


overtime

by sadblowjob



Category: Durarara!!
Genre: F/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-10-20
Updated: 2013-10-20
Packaged: 2017-12-29 23:59:18
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 682
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1011611
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/sadblowjob/pseuds/sadblowjob
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>She asks him because she thinks too much but not enough to know for sure, and she doesn't know if it's what she expected.</p>
            </blockquote>





	overtime

“Are you scared of death?” When Namie asks, it’s because the mood’s right. They’re both smoking with the windows closed and it’s filled the room and made it hard to breathe. It’s thick like chalk dust and sticks in her throat. 

“Yeah.” He brings the cigarette tip to his lips and lets it singe the flesh there. “But you aren’t.” 

“It means something, to be scared of death.” She’s scared of dying, of dying long and bloody or slow and aching. It makes her breathe through her nose and avoid swallowing the itch in her throat. But he isn’t, she almost thinks he’d dislike it if he laid down gently- knows he would. He’s scared of death, of what comes after the blood and pain or coughing and sickness. He’s scared of oblivion, the destruction of the strings he pulls and the taste he leaves. He’s scared of being forgotten, thinks he will be because memory’s not enough. 

“Oh, but I could never do it like you do.” She doesn’t know if he admires her for it or if he’s even capable. Doesn't know how he sees her, content without a fingerprint on anyone but herself. He doesn’t want to lose control above anything, so much so he’s made it his own demon, like he is everyone else’s. He likely doesn't regret it. She puts out her light and they go back to working in silence. 

The first time she’d asked him something like this, in a closed room filled with the haze of smoke and heat of computers running, it’d been about whatever he had in the works. He hadn’t answered then. Sometimes she thinks he could stand to just watch it, when he plays with those chips and lets them drop, but he’s always absentminded if he lets them go, working or reading with one hand. 

It could be subconscious, but it’d go against what she knows about him, or what she thinks she does. She doesn’t know why she tries, but she does and has since she started working for him. It started as a day hobby, her work is hardly difficult and she’s often left with excess time. She’s not sure when she started thinking about it at home but she did, and it spiraled from there and now she keeps her thoughts in a notebook. She leaves it out, almost wants him to find it. 

It’s the atmosphere that compels her to do it when she gets up to trace the curve of his neck, only to let him know what she wants- the heavy air and heat and the man who’s not scared of dying but death. He laughs when he places her in his lap and keeps on laughing with his lips on her neck, spinning the chair around. She keeps her hands on his shoulders, fisted in the fabric of the shirt he left on. His travel from her thighs to hips to tug at her hair. 

Sometimes, when her head’s not thrown back she can see his screen over the chair. It’s work, numbers and addresses and copies of files she’s sent him. She hadn’t thought he cared about work hours, did it on his own time because he enjoyed it. 

She doesn’t linger when they’re done, goes back to her desk naked from the waist down and resumes her work. It’s hard to focus, and she leans more on the back of her chair. Izaya’s bent forward with his cheek on his fist and she can’t see his lips. There’s a stain on her shirt and it sticks to her stomach. 

When she leaves for the night she mistakenly takes his jacket but decides against returning it, walking home with the fur pressed against the sides of her face. The stiff fabric where his come dried chafes against her skin and she regrets it, letting the light trick her into looking at him like an adult. They work in silence when she stays late, without his talk she forgets he's a child playing games and almost begins to take them seriously herself. 

**Author's Note:**

> regret


End file.
